Why I am Choosing Recovery, & You Can Too

This article began as an entirely different idea, and I really had no idea what to expect from it. Initially, I had intended to write about what the book “Atomic Habits'“ taught me about habit formation and how I applied this to my eating disorder recovery journey. However, soon after I began writing, I felt myself called to tell a different story. I began to spill everything I have ever felt or experienced regarding disordered eating, and found myself to be thinking about diet culture and releasing my pent up frustration around it.

Though this piece may be scattered and lengthy, I am proud to have written it and poured my heart into every paragraph. It is not perfect, far from it really, but it is real. Written at a time when I was at rock bottom, staring down the long road of recovery that lay ahead of me, I had no idea what was in store. Writing was extremely therapeutic for me throughout my entire recovery, and I have ebbed and flowed between sharing my story and trying to scrub it from my past. Ultimately, I always come back around to sharing it, in case it may help anyone else who is struggling, or anyone trying to understand the reality of eating disorders. With that being said, my name is Mackenzie Hayden, and I have recovered from anorexia nervosa.

December 11th, 2020

One of my favorite books that I’ve ever read is “Atomic Habits” by James Clear. He breaks down every aspect of habit formation, and explains the importance of tiny changes creating big results. While reading, I was absolutely captivated by the science behind changing habits, and it made me think about my own life. Much of the information and noteworthy tidbits from this book I translated to my relationship with food and my body. I myself am going through eating disorder recovery, and have battled with intrusive thoughts of dieting and body image for as long as I can remember.

A sentence from the book that prompted my desire to apply this book to eating disorder recovery essentially encapsulated the idea that “you can’t see what’s going on on the inside.” This applies to habit formation, but in this context, applies to the impact disordered eating has on an individual’s body and chemical functions. This thought connected to the idea that you don’t have to look like you have an eating disorder to have an eating disorder. When I was initially diagnosed, I was of a healthy weight. Because of this, I was able to wiggle out of treatment because I pushed the narrative that I was fine, and simply thought I was “misdiagnosed.” This had much to do with my physical symptoms, such as a low heart rate (which I would blame my running for), dizzy spells (to which I would blame my anxiety and stress levels), and other symptoms that commonly correlate to disordered eating. Yes, it could very well be result of other underlying issues, however, the various behaviors I illustrated when conducting myself around food would later prove otherwise.

More recently, I have come face-to-face with this fact. There is a huge stigma and stereotype painting a picture of what an eating disorder “looks like.” This creates the thought process of, “I’m not ‘sick’ enough to receive treatment",” or “I don’t deserve to seek help.” From one sufferer to another, PLEASE listen to me when I say this; ANYONE struggling deserves to get help. It does not matter what the number on the scale says, or how you think you look in the mirror, or what diet culture is telling you. What matters is what is on the inside. How you speak to yourself, how you feel around food, your self-esteem, your anxiety. The actions you catch yourself performing that spark the thought, 'this isn’t healthy’ or ‘I shouldn’t be doing this'.’

For me, I had struggled with aforementioned thoughts and behaviors, but played them off as “leading a healthy lifestyle.” I pushed this narrative for so long, that it normalized. Yes, I was a “healthy weight.” I was performing decently in school, running track, participating in extracurriculars, and hanging out with friends. But was I happy? The presence of social media didn't help. I was constantly comparing my body to others, nitpicking the aspects of my physique of which I always proclaimed to hate, so frequently that it never left my mind. Because I was so active, I was already in a hole that I had dug through years of under-fueling, which I was never able to grasp in the moment. I was lacking a balanced diet, contributing to the fact that I was constantly hungry. I analyzed what my peers ate, and gauged how much I should eat based on what I would see from others, disregarding the fact that what I was seeing would only be one piece of a one-thousand piece puzzle. This, compounded by the stress of school, led to a cycle of restricting and binging.

Once high school ended, I stopped running. I started lifting more, and my diet made a complete 180. And it didn’t take long for my body to reap the consequences. A dramatic weight loss in a three-week time span eventually prompting a need to stop exercise in it’s entirety. Only going for a few short walks per day, because it was all my body could handle. Never surpassing a set number calories per day and making sure I was burning more. Obsessively tracking my macros. Isolating myself from friends, more than I ever have before. Seeing the number on the scale go down, but not being any more satisfied with who I saw in the mirror. Disappearing hunger cues, a missing period, bradycardia- the list could go on and on.

Ever since my initial diagnosis, I had always made comments that I was “committed to recovery” or “was actually going to stick to it this time,” to not only convince my loved ones, but also myself that I had everything under control. I had difficultly comprehending the fact that yes- I do in fact have anorexia nervosa and no- I am very much not okay. I thought to myself- I eat three meals a day, so I can’t be anorexic. Probably one of the more ignorant things that has ever come out of my mouth. But it brings me back to the stigma in which modern diet culture has created.

It hurt me to say aloud that I struggle with anorexia nervosa. I felt guilty because I didn’t think I was “sick enough.” But this is part of the reason why eating disorders are so incredibly devastating. We can’t see all the damage we are doing on the inside. We get so caught up in pressures brought on by society, proclaiming that we can’t be that sick if we meet the physical credentials that might classify someone as “healthy.” Let me tell you right now— the number on the scale has little to do with whether or not someone is actually healthy.

For this reason, I escaped treatment and took back up with my original lifestyle. Entirely my doing, might I add. I was dangerously evasive and deceitful; a product of my eating disorder. As mentioned, following high school, I stopped running claiming that I “hated it” when really, I just couldn’t physically handle it anymore. I didn’t understand why. I felt weak, tired, and lethargic, making it impossible to enjoy the hobby that I once loved. I began lifting weights because I had read that it would help me to lose weight, and wouldn’t drain me nearly as much as running did. I fought through constant migraines, dizzy spells, and pangs of hunger all so that I could be ‘skinny.’ And eventually, I got what I thought I wanted.

So now you’re pretty much up to speed, bringing us to today. December 11th, 2020. I’m currently sitting on my floor writing this, on bedrest, at the lowest weight I’ve ever been. Going shopping exhausts me. I can barely go outside without my hands and feet turning purple and being chilled to the bone. I have to eat in front of the fireplace or wrapped in a heating pad because my body needs every ounce of energy to simply digest food, leaving me frozen. I couldn’t go to college and can rarely go out with friends. I lost my period and my hair began to thin. I was finally “sick enough.”

I now look at pictures of myself, back in a time when I loved to run thinking, I wish I was her; something I would have never expected myself to say. I have always been so insanely critical and hateful towards my body and my mind, and always wished to be ‘thinner.’ But ‘thinner’ is not at all what it’s cracked up to be.

I miss running with my whole heart. I miss the feeling it brought me, and all the amazing memories. I miss the sense of accomplishment I felt after completing a run, or giving my all in a race. I took it for granted. The saddest part is, my identity was always tied to my eating disorder, even before it led me here. There has never been a time when I wasn't body checking, or thinking about calories, or avoiding social outings that I knew would involve fear foods of mine. I never let myself fully enjoy the things that I loved, and always let my eating disorder get the better of me. I skipped out on countless birthdays, whether it be my best friend’s or my own. I missed countless gatherings, all in pursuit of what I thought would make me happy. I realized that I didn’t even know myself anymore, because I had been silenced by anorexia for so long.

Anorexia made me a zombie. Cold, emotionless, absent, and empty. I get easily irritated by the slightest things, and snap at the ones I love. I have little to no recollection of conversations that happened even moments ago, simply because I’m too drained to even offer an ounce of concentration. I zone out without realizing, often appearing rude or moody. I can barely even carry out a short exchange with a friend. My sleep is fragmented, and I wake up throughout the night, starving, but knowing I won’t act on the feeling.

I have been recovering—really recovering, for just under a month now. I am learning so much, and taking it day by day. I slip up frequently. Sometimes I give in to my eating disorder, even if I know what it is telling me is wrong— but it only fuels my fire to get back up and challenge it. I make note of little victories; challenging a fear food, hitting 100% of my meal plan, glimpses of spontaneity whenever and wherever they appear, because these are what will snowball into my ultimate goal— finding myself.

At first I didn’t want to recover. I couldn’t see life beyond my eating disorder. We were inseparable—and choosing to recover meant grieving the loss of someone I had known all my life. In a twisted way, ridding myself of anorexia feels like losing a best friend—and a very toxic one at that. Now, all I want is recovery. The little glimmers of success instill fragments of confidence within me; a feeling I’ve never ever felt before. I know that I have a future, and I’m here to tell you that you do too.

There is no such thing as “sick enough.” Everyone deserves help. Everyone’s feelings deserve to be acknowledged. Everyone deserves to wake up energized and full of life. Everyone deserves to live fully in the beautiful body God handcrafted for them. Because we were created in His image, and we were created with purpose. We can’t live out the destiny He created for us by running on empty! We can’t love others wholeheartedly if we neglect to love ourselves!

To that, I say this; No more missed birthdays. No more hiding. No more fear. No more eating disorder. The road ahead is long and winding, but the destination will be beautiful. And at that destination is a start to a new journey—filled with happiness and fulfillment and just waiting for you to arrive. We can do this. We can beat this. We can change the stigma.

This is just the beginning of my recovery journey. Writing has been a medicinal component in all aspects of my life, but particularly during this period. I truly do hope it has a chance at helping others as well as myself, because eating disorders are something that no one should ever have to fight alone. If you are someone who has ever experienced disordered eating, know that I think the world of you and commend you for your undying strength and bravery. I know how hard it is, and I know that the future may seem bleak, but I also know that God has big plans for you, and that you are so much stronger than your eating disorder. Please keep fighting. You can do this.